"Someone's coming," he whispered. "Stay behind me."

"Surely it's just Winslow," she whispered back. She prayed her parents hadn't yet returned.

"Most likely. But I'm not taking any chances."

Another growl sounded from Caesar. Julianne peeked around Gideon's shoulder. A tiny ball of fluff appeared in the doorway. Caesar barked. Once. A low, deep woof. And Julianne could only stare as Princess Buttercup, her little black nose quivering, sidled up to Caesar. Caesar, who could swallow Julianne's diminutive dog in a single gulp.

Alarmed, Julianne started to move around Gideon, but he put out a restraining arm. "Wait," he said softly.

"For what? For your dog to make an hors d'oeuvre out of mine? I think not."

"He wouldn't do harm unless he sensed a threat. A teacup-sized fluff ball dressed in tulle is hardly a threat. He'll no doubt just nudge her out of his way."

"One Caesar-sized nudge could knock her over." Julianne elbowed her way by him, but he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. She halted, rendered motionless by his touch.

"Just because he's large doesn't mean he can't be gentle," he whispered close to her ear.

A heated shiver raced down her spine. She turned her head, and for several seconds their gazes locked. Then his flicked down to her mouth. Her breath caught. Was he going to kiss her? Please…

To her disappointment he instead released her, although her skin continued to tingle. Somewhat relieved by his words, Julianne watched as the two dogs sniffed each other, her worry dissipating when she noted the pair of vigorously wagging tails. Princess Buttercup nudged Caesar's front leg with her nose then gave the spot a quick pass with her pink tongue. Caesar responded by licking his chops then nudging her rump with his snout. Princess Buttercup then hoisted herself up on her haunches and waved her dainty front paws at Caesar. His answer was a lick to her ear. As if that settled everything, Caesar then planted himself back at his post in the doorway. The Maltese snuggled up against his side, yawned once, then closed her eyes.

Julianne's brows arched upward. "Nudge her out of his way, will he?" She had to press her lips together to contain her mirth at Gideon's nonplussed expression. "Obviously you underestimated Princess Buttercup's charms."

"Obviously." They both watched as Caesar bestowed a gentle lick to Princess Buttercup's head then cast his gaze once more toward the corridor. "Good God, I think he's… infatuated."

She smothered a giggle at his shocked tone. "It appears the feeling's mutual."

"But they're so… so…"

"Different?" she supplied helpfully when he appeared at a loss.

"Incompatible."

She shrugged. "Whatever their differences, 'tis clear they worked through them." She shot him a sidelong glance, drew a deep breath, and summoned her courage. "Amazing what a few swipes of the tongue can accomplish."

He turned toward her so quickly she swore she heard his neck snap. His gaze latched onto hers, and the fire that flared in his eyes nearly scorched her where she stood. "Yes, amazing," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Her entire body tensed in anticipation, but instead of pulling her into his arms as she'd hoped, he nodded toward the towels resting on the settee next to the fireplace in which flames snapped. "May I?"

With her tongue-her sadly unswiped tongue-tied in knots, it took her a full ten seconds to find her voice. Dear God, he must think her a nincompoop. A mute nincompoop. She cleared her throat and managed, "Of course."

She crossed to the settee and lifted one of the soft white towels embroidered with the Gatesbourne crest. Botheration, since he hadn't picked up the gauntlet she'd tossed, clearly more drastic measures were called for. She was beginning to understand the frustration Maxwell had suffered with the reluctant Lady Elaine. Thanks to her Literary Society readings, Julianne wasn't ignorant regarding ways to get a man to kiss her. At least in theory. Obviously, in practice was something else altogether.

He approached her slowly, his gaze steady on hers, trapping her as surely as his arms had that afternoon. He looked large and dark and masculine, yet guilt pricked her at his wet, disheveled appearance-which shouldn't have been attractive, yet was. Wildly so. While she'd remained in the dry warmth, he'd gone back into the rain to search for the intruder, during which time her fright had abated enough for her to realize with no small amount of chagrin that tonight's culprit had of course been Johnny.

She'd speak to the young man first thing in the morning-very firmly. Tell him that he mustn't do anything like that again. Good heavens, he'd nearly scared her to death. She'd merely expected him to make some ghostly moans and groans, not frighten her so badly that she temporarily forgot her plan.

Gideon stopped a mere two feet from her. He may have required the fire's heat, but she did not. Indeed, she felt uncomfortably warm. And as if her skin had somehow shrunken several sizes.

He reached for the towel. His fingers grazed hers, and she pulled in a quick breath. She expected him to simply take the towel and withdraw his hand. Instead, when his fingers touched hers, he went perfectly still. His skin was rough and still bore a trace of chill, and another wave of guilt washed over her at the discomfort he'd suffered-but it was nearly drowned out by the heat that suffused her at his touch. Propriety demanded she step back. Move her hand away from his. Yet she remained rooted in place, greedily drinking him in as if she were parched. Propriety had no place in her plans for this evening.

She moistened her lips, noting his gaze flick to her mouth again and the flames that kindled in his dark eyes. "Like Mrs. Linquist, I'm very glad you're here. I'd never been so frightened in my entire life."

For several heartbeats he said nothing, just studied her with those dark, unreadable eyes. "I won't allow anyone to hurt you," he said quietly, his expression and voice utterly serious.

Her imagination instantly took flight, picturing him dueling ghosts, tossing hooded knife wielders into the Thames, then sweeping her up into his strong arms and carrying her off to his kingdom where they would-

He took the towel from her and stepped back.

Julianne's fanciful thoughts disintegrated, and she blinked, pulling herself back into the present. She picked up another towel from the stack and approached him.

"Let me help." She reached up and pressed the towel against his cheek. And felt his entire body tense.

A muscle in his jaw ticked beneath the towel. Her gaze dropped, and she noted the white-knuckled grip with which he strangled the towel he held.

A thrill of feminine satisfaction raced through her. Clearly he was tempted. And fighting that temptation.

She could feel the tension emanating from him. Sensed him combating what he clearly wanted-or at least what she desperately hoped he wanted: to finish what they'd started in the music room. To touch her. Kiss her.

Determined to see him fail in his struggle, she leaned toward him. He inhaled sharply, and his full, firm lips parted. Just when she thought he was about to capitulate, he practically snatched the towel from her hand then backed up a step. "I can do it," he said, his voice sounding as if he'd swallowed gravel. "Why don't you see to the tea?"

Good heavens, the man actually looked… nervous? Certainly she'd unsettled him. Surely the notion that he was shouldn't delight her so, but it did nonetheless. Why, he looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room.

Her delight instantly wilted. She didn't want him to bolt from the room. Best she not unsettle him too much. Therefore, even though she wanted nothing more than to help him dry off, she forced her feet to cross the Turkish rug. "I'll see to the tea."

After settling herself on the settee, she reached for the teapot, wrapping her fingers around the curved silver handle. Unfortunately, she then made the tactical error of glancing toward Gideon. And completely forgot about tea. Forgot about everything save him.

He stood with his back to her, bathed in the golden glow of the fire, his jacket half-on, half-off. She watched in stupefied fascination as he shrugged the garment the rest of the way off his broad shoulders. His cravat and red waistcoat followed, leaving him clad in his white shirt, which adhered to his body as if painted on. Julianne's avid gaze took in the breadth of his shoulders. The play of his muscles as he rubbed the towel over his chest and back, then down his arms, blotting the wetness away.

When he crouched down to spread the clothing he'd removed on the hearth to dry, his damp breeches clung to his backside in a manner that made her mouth go dry. Before she could recover, he stood and turned.

Their gazes collided, and she felt the impact of his intense regard down to her toes. He no longer looked nervous. In fact, he appeared so in command of himself, she wondered if she'd misinterpreted his reaction earlier. If she'd been capable of speech, she would have told him he looked delicious, er, drier, but sadly, anything as complicated as stringing two words together was currently beyond her.

Her knees seemed to have turned to liquid, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she was already seated. How was it possible that he could reduce her to such a boneless state with a mere look? Surely the fact that he could should have frightened her. Appalled her. Something other than breathlessly exciting her.

He approached her slowly, the towel dangling from his long fingers. He looked big and dark, deliciously damp and dangerous, and she couldn't have torn her fervent gaze from him if her very life had depended upon it. He stopped an arm's length away from her, and her gaze focused on the fascinating front of his snug breeches with the zeal a starving dog would bestow on a mutton chop. Oh, my. Those breeches left no doubt that Gideon was very perfectly and very generously made.